


Burned Out Flats and Broken Noses

by 221brosiewilde



Series: Resurrections and Stolen Cigarettes [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Frottage, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 08:34:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221brosiewilde/pseuds/221brosiewilde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alive is the word that’s beating in time with Sebastian’s heart and the pounding in his head as he watches him, still trying to fathom it. <br/>He hasn't been able to say anything to him, can’t. What do you say to a dead man?<br/>Part two of the Resurrections and Stolen Cigarettes Series. Can be read as a stand alone, but will make more sense if you've read the first one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burned Out Flats and Broken Noses

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second part of the Resurrections and Stolen Cigarette Series. It can be read as a stand alone, but it won't make much sense unless you've read the first part. Thanks again to Sarah for being an awesome beta, Laurie for being the first to like this, and Rachael for her honesty.

“You’re being unusually affectionate tonight,” Sebastian remarks, watching Jim with a bemused and slightly suspicious gaze. “It’s weird.”

They were spending a quiet night in for once, and snow was falling outside, blanketing all of London in its white swirl. The news was on low volume with reports of Jim’s miraculous not guilty verdict still showing on the screen, and Sebastian had been trying to work his way through Hemingway before Jim had come from nowhere and plucked it out of his hands. But instead of tossing the book to the other side of the couch or on the floor like he usually did, he placed it on the coffee table, even taking the time to fold the page down and close the book properly.

It was unusual.

“I can’t lay on top of the man I’ve been fucking for the past few years without being questioned?” Jim asks, clutching a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded, Seb. Really.”

“Shut up. You know what I mean,” Sebastian says, shifting so he can wrap his arm around Jim without it falling asleep. “You’re not usually this cuddly.”

“I’m not cuddly,” Jim snaps, sounding like himself for the first time in months. “I’m exhausted. And cold. It’s freezing in here.”

It isn’t freezing. He’s just tired. Sebastian knows this because Jim always complains about things that aren’t really bothering him whenever he needs sleep.

But it’s still fun to antagonize him. And Jim isn’t the only one who’s unhappy.

“So why don’t you just turn the heating up?”

Jim fixes him with a stare that Sebastian can interpret without even trying.

_I’m trying to be nice to you and this is hard for me so stop complaining._

Sebastian huffs out a sigh, and wordlessly tugs at the blanket hanging on the back of the couch until it’s draped over the two of them, encasing them in their own little cocoon of trapped body heat.

Months.

It had been months since the two of them had gotten any sort of reprieve from work, and even longer since Sebastian had seen Jim outside of Richard Brook. He’d been working tirelessly to create the image, and even more so to plant the idea in Kitty Riley’s head. He’d been spending so much time with her that it was starting to take its toll on Sebastian, and the sniper was practically running all of the projects Jim had pushed aside in light of his grand master plan.

Everything was different.

But now, even with Jim curled up on top of him, eyes closed and vulnerable, and with the deepest chasm of things to say, he can’t find the words that he’s been wanting to scream since Jim had started this whole Sherlock Holmes business in the first place. Instead, he says,

“I miss you.”

Jim doesn’t open his eyes, but hums in reply. “I’m here now, aren’t I?” he bites back without any real venom, and Sebastian almost gets up and dumps him on the floor then and there. Until, “I miss you too.”

A sigh. “You know, you could just-”

“ _Sebastian_ ,” Jim says, opening his eyes finally. And those eyes were always so expressive when he let them be, and now they just look _tired_. “Don’t. Not right now.”

And Sebastian knows he’s whining, but it’s frustrating being left so completely alone in the dark with his thoughts for the past couple of weeks, and Jim had never hidden something this huge from him before. He can’t see how this will end well, and the paranoia has settled so heavily in his gut that he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to rip it all the way out.

Jim seems to sense this, and suddenly there’s a hand on Sebastian’s forehead, smoothing back his hair, and those eyes are trained on him in full force.

Sebastian turns to the attention like a plant to the sun.

It’s pathetic.

But then Jim is kissing him, taking his time with it, and the fact that it’s been nearly a month without any kind of physical contact between the two of them comes crashing to the forefront of Sebastian’s mind with all the elegance and subtlety of a freight train.

“Do you want-”

“Yeah.”

After that, it’s a wordless communication of two bodies that have known each other for far too long, and Sebastian can’t help but marvel at how far they’ve come from the beginning of their relationship, when it had all been power plays and a bid to see who would be able to top who, to now. To this. It’s lazy, and slow, and almost uncomfortably warm, but neither of them are willing to move away from each other for longer than it takes to slide their clothes off.

Sebastian groans when he finally feels Jim bare and hard against him, and splays his hand on his back, feeling out his ribs as he tries to memorize the shape of every one of them. Thin is the word that floats through his mind, and he idly reminds himself to order some takeout after this.

“Stop thinking,” Jim hisses with a harsh bite to Sebastian’s lip, bringing him back to the present. Sebastian grunts at the sharp pain but then Jim moves, aligning their hips perfectly, and he can’t hide the way his breath hitches at the friction. He feels Jim smile against his mouth, pause, and then move his hips again, slowly, starting a rhythm that Sebastian meets every time.

“Tease.”

“Shush,” Jim says against his neck, though the word comes out a little unsteady when Sebastian slides his hands down to Jim’s lower back, digging his nails in because he knows he’s sensitive there. “You know you like it.”

“Yeah,” Sebastian breathes, agreeing when Jim reaches down and takes both of them in hand, stroking slowly. He curses.

And there’s no more talking after that.

The memory comes back to Sebastian as he’s standing in the remains of what used to be their living room, watching as Jim walks around, idly kicking charred pieces of furniture and sometimes crouching down to examine the ash from something that used to be important.

Alive is the word that’s beating in time with Sebastian’s heart and the pounding in his head as he watches him, still trying to fathom it.

He hasn’t been able to say anything to him, can’t. What do you say to a dead man?

“Well you’ve certainly outdone yourself,” Jim quips as he squints at a half incinerated piece of paper, and the sound of his voice shakes Sebastian from his thoughts. It’s still a shock to hear it after so long without it. “Trying to destroy the evidence...They’ll be hard pressed to find anything in this. Well done, you.” He stands and dusts off his knees though he looks immaculate as ever, hair slicked back and suit tailored to perfection. He turns to look at Sebastian, and shoves his hands in his pockets, studying him.

Sebastian stares back.

In the army, he’d seen men who were shell shocked. He’d seen the blank looks and the thousand yard stares, and he’d always wondered what it had been like to be inside of their minds, what it would be like to feel so hollow. He’d wondered it passively, never thinking that he’d actually experience it. Sebastian Moran was a professional when it came to compartmentalizing, to getting to the matter at hand, never dwelling on the horrible things he’d seen the way other men did. He’d assumed lack of guilt played a big part in that.

He never anticipated becoming hollowed out by the things he thought he’d no longer get to see.

Like Jim.

The criminal fidgets nervously, and scratches the back of his neck in a rare display of uncertainty. “Are you going to say anything?” he asks, letting his hand drop, going back to being impassive, unaffected; so different from the Jim Sebastian had seen that night on the couch, the one who looked tired and weary down to his bones.

“What are you doing here?” Sebastian asks finally, and Jim blinks, surprised.

“That’s a nice way to greet someone you haven’t seen in two years,” Jim says, going for a smile, though it falls flat. “No ‘hello Jim, nice to see you again-’”

“Jim.” Sebastian’s voice is hard, cutting him off because he knows that if he lets him talk he won’t be able to keep it together. Already, he can feel himself starting to shake apart.

Jim seems to sense this and shrugs. “I’ve come back,” he answers. “I would have thought you’d be happier to see me, but I suppose that’s not the case.”

“I never said I wasn’t.”

“You never said you were.”

“Answer the fucking question, Jim.”

“Since when do I answer to you, Sebastian?” Jim asks softly, his voice sounding raw around the edges even as he takes a few indirect steps towards Sebastian. “You think that just because you were keeping the nest warm for me while I was away that you have all the power now? How cute. How utterly  pedestrian of you, Seb. I never pegged you for the power hungry type.”

“You know I’m not,” Sebastian grinds out. The pressure inside of him is building up and he knows that it’s going to become too much soon. “But you killed yourself, and now you’re back and I think I deserve a fucking answer.”

“What is there to answer for?” Jim asks, stopping a foot away from Sebastian. “I pretended to kill myself and laid low for a bit and now I’m back. Is that really so difficult to understand?”

“I had to identify the body,” Sebastian says, his voice breaking on the last word. He closes his eyes and swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. He feels like he’s fifteen again and watching as his mother is lowered into the ground. He feels twenty one and scared when his spotter is shot by someone who was faster and smarter than him. He feels thirty six and lost when the man he’d put all of his faith in for the last five years kills himself to make sure a plan goes off without a hitch.

Jim snorts. “Didn’t do a very good job, did you?”

Sebastian snaps.

One minute he’s standing in front of Jim and the next thing he knows, Jim is reeling back, clutching his face, letting out a stream of curses.

The room is red.

“You left me,” Sebastian snarls, grabbing Jim roughly by his arm and pinning him face first against the wall. He twists his arm behind his back and pushes up. Jim goes still.

“Sebastian-”

“Don’t.” Seb twists until Jim closes his eyes and cries out in pain. “You _died_ , Jim, and you left me here to clean up the mess. You told me to wait for you, and I did. I singlehandedly kept the organization up and running for _you_. After everything we’ve been through I think I deserve some fucking answers.”

He’s breathing heavy, and he knows that he’s one small move away from doing something he knows he’ll regret later. Jim shifts, and he tightens his hold.

“Fine,” the criminal spits, voice slightly muffled from having half of his face smashed against what’s left of the wall. “I’ll tell you. Just let go.”

“Tell me first.”

“No.”

Sebastian grips Jim’s arm harder and the sound of his bones grinding together should serve as an answer but he struggles anyway. “Jim-”

“He’s back.”

Sebastian moves away like he’s been burned and Jim stays against the wall before peeling himself away with some difficulty.

Of course. Jim wouldn’t come back just to see him. It was Sherlock Holmes all over again.

The sinking feeling, the one that he’d felt when he’d heard the gunshot on the rooftop settles in his stomach like an anchor, locking him in place.

Jim is speaking again. “I’ll tell you everything, but I suggest we leave first.” He’s taken the handkerchief out of his pocket and started wiping the blood off of his face. “They’re bound to be watching the place and the last thing I need is him knowing that I’m alive. Can you get us a hotel room?”

Sebastian stares at Jim. He’s been back for barely a half hour and already he’s ordering Sebastian around as if nothing had changed, as if he’s never gone anywhere.

As if he’s never left.

The anger must be evident on his face because Jim sighs, impatient. “You can huff and puff and blow the house down for as long as you want Seb, but we do have to leave.”

It isn’t until Jim turns and walks down the skeleton of what used to be their staircase, momentarily disappearing from sight, that Sebastian takes out his phone and starts looking for the dingiest motel he can find.

They go.

Later, when Jim is sitting on the edge of the hotel bath tub, bare chested and bruised, hands on Sebastian’s shoulders as he gets ready to moves his nose back into place, it starts to feel real.

He’s back.

Sebastian puts his fingers on either side of Jim’s nose and twists the cartilage with one quick movement. Jim barely winces, just keeps his eyes on Sebastian as he checks him over for any residual bruising, inspecting the body he thought he’d buried two years ago. His fingers linger over the place where Jim’s ribs start, and a hand covers them, warm and alive and real.

“You can stop staring,” Jim says quietly, the joking tone out of his voice finally. The pain must have been sobering. He sounds patient, and Sebastian resents it. “I’m not going to disappear.”

“Don’t make me any guarantees, Jim. They’re obviously not your forte.”

He stands, and walks over to the sink, washing Jim’s blood off of his hands, doing his best to ignore the sense of deja vu that washes over him when he sees it swirling down the drain.

“I never made you any guarantees, you know,” Jim says, tenderly feeling the skin around his nose. “I never told you I’d stay forever. We weren’t-”

“We were,” Sebastian interrupts him. Because whatever they’d had, as nebulous and undefined as it was, it had been theirs. It had been something. “We were…” He trails off, floundering for something to say. It was true that they’d never made each other any promises, but he’d thought that whatever it was between them was real enough that it didn’t have to be said with words. They said it loud and clear enough in their actions. Or at least, he thought they had.

Had he really interpreted everything so wrongly?

“Exactly,” Jim says quietly. “We weren’t anything.” He stands, and for a moment, meets Sebastian’s gaze in the mirror before walking out.

Sebastian, as always, follows.

He watches Jim plop down onto the bed and throw an arm across his face, briefly letting the tension leave his body.

He looks like a man who’s been running for a very long time.

And being tired always made Jim lash out.

Sebastian sighs, and runs a hand through his hair. The urge to just walk over and lay down next to Jim is becoming overwhelming very quickly.

But he doesn’t want to give in.

Because if Jim didn’t want them to be anything, if they never were anything to begin with, if it had never been real, then he didn’t deserve it.

“What are you doing?” Jim asks, moving his hand so he can peer blearily at him.Sebastian lays down on the farthest side of the bed, tugging the covers over himself, and turning to face away from Jim.

“Trying to sleep,” Sebastian says though his eyes stay open. “You should get some too. You look like you need it.”

“Got all the anger out of your system then?” Jim asks. It’s a tentative question, and he sounds uncharacteristically unsure.

“No. I still want my answers.”

“Then ask your questions.”

“Jim,” Sebastian sighs, and turns his head to look at him. “One thing at a time, yeah?”

It’s a cop out. He knows it, and he knows that Jim probably knows it too, but he can’t bring himself to think up a better excuse. The exhaustion, emotional and otherwise, is catching up to him, and already he can see the sleep starting to cloud Jim’s eyes.

“Sure you don’t want to punch me anymore? Get all the frustration out?” Jim’s fingers trip their way down Sebastian’s stomach, and hook into the waistband of his jeans. For a second, Sebastian considers it. His sex life hadn’t exactly flourished in the last few years, not that he hadn’t done anything, or at least tried to. But every time it had seemed wrong.

No one was Jim.

“You were hard when you hit me,” Jim informs him matter of factly, keeping his hands where they are as if he’s waiting for permission. They’re warm where they touch Sebastian’s skin, and he can’t keep back a shiver. “Talk about an interesting mix of emotions. Care to explain?”

He wraps his hand around Jim’s fingers and pushes them away. He doesn’t trust himself to be that close without doing something he’d regret. “Not until you explain things to me.”

“Then let me.”

“Not yet.” Sebastian shakes his head. It’s part cowardice, and part exhaustion that keeps him from wanting to hear Jim try to explain away the last two years. He doesn’t want to hear about Sherlock Holmes being the only reason Jim’s come back. He’s already had to stomach enough for one day. “Tomorrow.”

He closes his eyes, and feels rather than sees Jim sigh against him. It’s familiar, and the steady up and down motion of his breathing is endlessly reassuring.

Sleep captures the both of them tightly in its fists.


End file.
